


knockin' heads an' talkin' trash (slingin' mud an' dirt an' grass)

by fictionalcandie



Category: Glee
Genre: Cheerio Kurt, Homophobic Language, M/M, Minor Violence, Not Canon Compliant, Pre-Season/Series 02, Protectiveness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-30
Updated: 2010-08-30
Packaged: 2017-12-25 19:54:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/956999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionalcandie/pseuds/fictionalcandie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt, especially in his Cheerio uniform, has a tendency to attract attention. Unfortunately, Puck knows it’s not always the good kind of attention.</p>
            </blockquote>





	knockin' heads an' talkin' trash (slingin' mud an' dirt an' grass)

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by (and the title stolen from) the Kenny Chesney song _The Boys Of Fall_.

Puck was not a genius.

He wasn’t stupid, though, and he wasn’t blind, either.

So when he noticed a bunch of guys on the opposing sideline giving the stinkeye to Kurt — standing with the other Cheerios looking happy and cute and energetic and really, really gay — at the first away game that Puck could ever remember the football team actually having the lead in before the end of the first quarter, well. Puck knew what to make of _that_.

Shit.

—

“Hey, princess,” called Puck, the first chance he got, snagging Kurt by his elbow and tugging him in close enough to be heard. “Do me a favor, okay?”

Kurt looked a little thrown, but he recovered quickly. “I’m not blowing you in the locker room,” he replied, smirking with one corner of his mouth like Puck had seen him do sometimes while talking to Mercedes. “I know it’s halftime and I’m a Cheerio, but I’m just not that kind of girl.”

“I’d ask you to reconsider, but actually, that wasn’t what I was gonna say,” Puck snapped back. He glanced over at the other side of the field; several members of the other team’s defensive line were watching them with looks on their faces which made Puck really glad that Kurt wasn’t ever on the field anymore. His fingers tightened around Kurt’s arm without his meaning them to.

Kurt started, trying to yank his arm free for just a second, until he followed Puck’s gaze, and he froze. “Puck,” he said slowly, turning a wary gaze on Puck.

“Stick with me after the game, okay?” Puck blurted, squeezing again and tugging Kurt in even closer. “Like, until we leave.”

Eyes taking on a hurt look, Kurt whispered, “Puck, I thought you—”

“I’d tell you to just stay next to Santana, but she’s only scary to people who know her,” added Puck hurriedly, because he didn’t like that expression on Kurt’s face and he didn’t deserve it either. “I don’t think she’d really be much help against a bunch of football players. Especially mean ones who just lost a game.”

For a second, Kurt looked even more confused. Then his face cleared — it even lit up a bit, and he offered Puck a tiny little smile that it looked like he actually meant. “Okay,” he said. “Yeah, I’ll stick with you.”

—

McKinley won the game.

Not that Puck had been hoping they’d lose, or anything, but he would have been more pleased about it if every point they scored didn’t make the other team’s dirty looks at Kurt progressively more nasty. He didn’t need to be brilliant to know they were just going to see losing as even more of an excuse to go after McKinley’s obviously gay cheerleader — not that there was any such thing as a _good_ reason for anyone to hurt Kurt.

Shit, Puck hated morons.

Knowing that Kurt would have only Santana as protection until he got out — and she probably hadn’t even noticed that Kurt might need protection — Puck rushed through the locker room as quickly as he could. He took the fastest post-game shower ever, and didn’t do much more than pull on some jeans and yank his jersey back on before he bolted out.

Kurt was in the parking lot, by the entrance to the locker rooms, looking anxious. As soon as he spotted Puck, he hurried over.

“The buses aren’t running,” he announced, before Puck could ask why everyone was just milling around. “I think I heard Coach say that someone ‘did something’ to them.”

“Aw, man,” Puck groaned.

“Sylvester’s really mad, though,” Kurt added, following as Puck crossed the lot to the McKinley buses. “So mine should be fixed soon, at least.”

“Good,” Puck muttered, keeping an eye out for anyone from the other team. The other school’s losers could be as big of dicks as they wanted once Kurt was gone, Puck didn’t care.

Puck stopped them next to the Cheerios bus. Ignoring the confused and suspicious look Santana was giving them, he dropped his gym bag and sat down to lean against the tire, gesturing for Kurt to do the same. When the smaller boy hesitated, Puck rolled his eyes and grabbed Kurt’s hand to tug him down onto Puck’s bag; stuffed with Puck’s football gear as it was, it would be mildly uncomfortable, but wouldn’t necessitate Kurt getting his uniform cleaned.

“Thanks,” Kurt muttered. “I mean, for this, and… well. _This_.”

Puck shrugged and didn’t meet Kurt’s eyes. “Whatever. It’s cool, Princess.”

They’d been sitting for several minutes, more or less in silence, with Puck keeping track of all the players from the other team who’d made it out to the parking lot and Kurt pretending he didn’t notice any of them, when Kurt started digging frantically through his bag. “… crap,” he said after a second, so quietly that Puck barely caught it.

He glanced at Kurt, a knot starting in his gut because he had a feeling he knew what Kurt was about to say. “Something wrong?”

“I— I think I left my phone on the bench,” Kurt admitted, looking terrified and also kind of sheepish. Puck would have found it funny, except… well, he didn’t.

“Your phone,” he groaned. “What was your phone even doing out there at all? I thought Sylvester, like, _banned_ them.”

“She did. But Mercedes actually has a _date_ tonight, and I needed status upda—”

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Puck interrupted, trying not to clench his fists. “Your girl’s getting some and you’re a badass who’s not scared of Sylvester. I get the picture.”

“Right.” Kurt bit his lip, giving Puck a sideways look. “So, um, I’ll just… run and get it, then.”

“The hell you will, princess,” snapped Puck, glaring at him. “There are at least four guys out here watching you like vultures. You’re not going _anywhere_ by yourself.”

“Oh.” Kurt hesitated. “ _We’ll_ go get it?”

“If I knew what it looked like, I’d leave you here,” Puck groaned, getting to his feet. “Come on. Let’s go put ourselves in the perfect place to get jumped by a bunch of angry homophobic assholes, and get your phone.”

“You don’t have to,” Kurt mumbled, standing and following as Puck led the way back to the field. He obviously didn’t want to go by himself, though, because he stayed behind Puck.

“Yeah, except I’d really rather you didn’t get the shit beat out of you,” Puck countered, mentally groaning when he saw one of the other school’s defensive linemen pointing at them as they slipped around the side of the stands. Great. “So just… shut up, princess.”

Kurt did.

They actually made it to the bench on the sidelines where the Cheerios were sitting when they weren’t, well, cheering, and Kurt found his phone and they were about to leave the field again, when the members of the other team showed up. There were ten of them, all big, angry-looking boys from the defensive line, and they came stomping out of the shadows in front of the stands like they had every right to be looming there.

Which, unfortunately, they did.

“The game’s over, girls,” said the first guy, crossing his arms and leering at them. “What’re you two homos doing out here on our field?”

“Gonna get your little queerio to give you some victory head?” taunted one of the others, prompting loud jeers from his friends.

“We forgot something,” Puck said shortly, dragging Kurt back and stepping in front of him. “But we found it, so we were just leaving.”

There was more laughter. “That’s what _you_ think. Right, boys?”

Puck had felt the beat of Kurt’s heart in the second he’d had his hand on the smaller chest to push the other boy behind him; it was thumping hard against his ribs, like a jackrabbit, in a way Puck hadn’t felt it since that very first dumpster tossing. Since, he realized, Kurt had figured out they didn’t intend to _hurt_ him.

These guys? Obviously did.

Puck gritted his teeth to keep back the litany of curse words running through his head. Cussing these guys out wouldn’t do anyone any good. Especially not Kurt.

Puck couldn’t feel the other boy’s fingers, but by the way his jersey was pulling tight over his shoulders and at his neck he could tell that Kurt was clinging to the back of it. Hopefully, Kurt would let go quickly if things got… interesting. Puck was grateful Kurt hadn’t actually grabbed his arms; he’d need those.

“You can’t leave yet,” the first guy was saying. “We didn’t even get to the fun part yet.”

“Yeah. You wouldn’t want to miss that, would you?” The gorilla who spoke cracked his knuckles loudly before adding, “I thought you homos were supposed to like parties.”

“I think we’ll pass,” replied Puck, smiling coldly.

“That’s funny, he thought we were asking. Isn’t it funny, guys?”

Spreading out in a half circle, they said more, taunts and jeers and variously creative levels of name-calling, working themselves up to a nice fever pitch for some really good, cheap gang violence. Puck was glad he and Kurt weren’t expected to do anything but stand there and be the target; he wasn’t very good at keeping calm when he had the opportunity to open his mouth and be an aggressive badass. That would probably just get them both hurt faster, in this situation.

“Princess?” Puck kept his voice as quiet as he could, speaking out of the corner of his mouth and moving his lips as little as possible, while backing them a slow half-step at a time away from the advancing football players. “They’re gonna quit talking in a minute and I’m gonna take as many as I can to distract them. When I do, I want you to run.”

“What?” Kurt hissed against the back of his arm. “Puck, I’m not going to _leave_ you here with—”

“ _You run_ ,” Puck insisted, resisting the urge to reach back and shake Kurt; he kept his eyes on the members of the other team. “Find one of our coaches if you have to, preferably Sylvester, and bring them back, but you fucking run, okay?”

He heard Kurt draw an unsteady breath. “Puck, no.”

“They will break your pretty face, Kurt,” snapped Puck. “I can’t stop all of them, so you better _run_.”

Kurt was silent for a couple of heartbeats, except for the damp, trembling sound of his breathing. “Please don’t make me leave you here alone,” he whispered finally.

Puck opened his mouth to snap at him that of course he didn’t _want_ to be left there alone — except, well, he _did_ , because that would mean Kurt _wasn’t there_ and they _couldn’t hurt him_ — but before he could, he was interrupted.

“What’s going on?” called a voice from off to the side, a little behind Kurt and Puck, who both jumped slightly.

Kurt’s grip tightened, and Puck felt his pulse spike as another jolt of adrenaline hit his system. He cut his eyes sharply sideways for barely a second, unwilling to take his attention away from the obvious threat for long.

It was about half a dozen members of the McKinley team, the speaker one of the offensive linemen. All but one were boys who’d helped Puck throw Kurt into a dumpster at one time or another.

“Markowitz?” Puck called, wary. He shifted on his feet, trying to angle himself so he was between Kurt and the new arrivals as well. “Is the bus ready?”

“Not yet,” Markowitz said slowly. He glanced around at the arrangement of the opposing football players. “Does someone have a problem here?”

“You bet we got a problem,” called the other team’s apparent spokesman. “We got a _big_ problem with your faggot running back and his little fairy boyfriend.”

There was a sharp, sibilant noise from behind Puck, like the one he’d heard that time he accidentally stepped on his neighbor’s cat. Puck wanted to narrow his eyes angrily, but he wouldn’t risk limiting his peripheral vision. “Yeah,” he spat instead, “and I’ve got a problem with their problem.”

The other McKinley players exchanged glances, then one of them — Puck didn’t remember his name; some freshman — turned and ran off, back toward the parking lot. Kurt’s grip tightened even further.

“Is that right,” muttered Markowitz, moving with his teammates to stand opposite Puck and the other team like the final point to some bizarre triangle of teenage aggression.

Shit. If the McKinley jocks decided to get in on the Kurt-bashing too, Puck was fucked. He was gonna get beat up either way, but the more people he had to take on, the less likely he’d be able to distract all of them long enough for Kurt to get away.

“Noah,” Kurt whispered unevenly, apparently reaching the same conclusion.

“Run,” Puck repeated, using the tone he normally reserved for his little sister when he had to babysit and she wouldn’t listen. “Just… remember to run, Kurt.”

“So, you thought you’d bring half your defensive line to deal with your problem,” the guy on Markowitz’s left remarked, crossing his beefy arms over his equally impressive chest. “Not real sporting.”

There was a string of low grumbling from the opposing team.

“You know, Lutz is right,” Markowitz agreed thoughtfully. “Puckerman here may be badass in a fight, but ten against two isn’t fair.”

The ringleader on the other side narrowed his eyes. “We’ll take ten against seven, too.”

“How about ten against the whole team?” asked Henley, the guy on Markowitz’s other side, with a smirk. “Or did you really think our freshman was chickening out? He went to get everybody else.”

Puck heard Kurt’s sharp exhale of surprise before he actually processed what his teammate meant, then the rush of relief going through him had him sagging back against Kurt a little.

“Thank you, God,” he blurted under his breath.

Kurt chuckled weakly, and Puck realized a little dazedly that the smaller boy actually had his face pressed against Puck’s shoulder, and he’d finally curled his hand around Puck’s arm like he’d finally decided Puck wasn’t going to need it. That was— Well. Puck didn’t actually know what that was. Something kind of awesome, it felt like.

“You guys are gonna defend them, huh,” jeered one of the morons across from the McKinley kids.

“They may be a faggot running back and his little fairy boyfriend,” snapped Markowitz. “But they’re _McKinley’s_ running back and his boyfriend.”

“We’re not gonna kill ‘em, or anything,” the other team’s ringleader protested, sounding really annoyed. “We just want to knock the disgusting little cocksuckers around a little.”

Of course, that was when the freshmen showed back up, half the team behind him, led by Finn, Matt, Mike and — Santana and _Brittany_?

“Nobody’s going to do anything to Kurt,” Finn declared, loudly. His face was going red with anger, which Puck hadn’t seen since Babygate. Next to him, Matt and Mike scowled in agreement.

The girls waltzed right past everyone, not stopping even to say anything, until they were at Kurt’s side, seeming fierce and protective even though Puck couldn’t see them. He knew they must be latching on to their fellow Cheerio, probably trying to pull him away from Puck and take him back to the bus, but Kurt didn’t let go. He didn’t even loosen his grip on Puck.

“Noah?” he questioned softly.

The other team was looking pissed off and denied and all kinds of angry, but no longer like they actually thought they were going to get to beat anyone up, which was… good, Puck decided. Very good.

“Go with Santana and Brittany,” he told Kurt, reaching around himself at last to grab reassuring hold of Kurt’s wrist, just above where his hand was wrapped around Puck’s other arm. “Back to our stuff.”

“Noah—”

“I’ll be there in a minute,” Puck promised. “Go, okay?”

Kurt’s fingers loosened, and after another moment, he let himself be pried away and dragged off by the girls — who, Puck could now be sure, looked positively murderous when they glanced at the other school’s football players.

“Finn, Mike, Matt,” Puck called, watching Kurt’s retreating back. The three boys stopped. “Go with him.”

The other football gleeks exchange glances, but a second later, they went.

They were the only ones.

Puck turned back to the other team. With Kurt gone, he kind of wanted to hit some dumbasses.

“I suggest you forget everything about what you were hoping to do here,” Markowitz said coolly, before Puck could suggest some retaliatory violence. “Including the conclusion that it was ever a good idea.”

“Fuck you,” spat the ringleader across from them, but he was already waving dismissively at his teammates, who started backing away and then turning to leave entirely. He trained his eyes on Puck and narrowed them furiously. “But you’ll get what’s coming to you eventually, faggot.”

Puck scoffed. “Sure I will.”

“You and your assfuck,” the guy spat, apparently either not noticing or not caring that the only one who had any real back-up anymore was Puck. “Somebody’ll get the two of you someday. Hope it’s us, but—”

He stopped talking abruptly when Puck took seven angry steps forward, right into the guy’s face.

“Next time you got a problem with us, I don’t care if you bring your whole team,” Puck announced softly, “but you mess with _me_ , not Kurt.”

“Who? _Kurt_? You mean your faggy cheerleader _boyfriend_?” scoffed the other guy.

“Yeah,” said Puck dangerously. “That’s exactly who I mean.”

The guy sneered. “What, you don’t want us roughing up the little fairy?”

Puck responded with a swift hard right-hand punch to the guy’s solar plexus. As the bigger boy gasped and sagged to his knees, Puck grabbed the back of his head and leaned in close to hiss, “No, I _fucking don’t_.”

Puck turned around and left him there, before a member of the home team could decide to turn around and catch him essentially sucker punching the dude. Not that Puck was ashamed of hitting him — the asshole deserved it — but he’d rather go make sure no-one was giving Kurt any trouble than get caught up in an actual fight.

No-one was giving Kurt any trouble. In fact, the majority of the team still in the parking lot was standing a wide, very loose protective half circle around the Cheerios, doing a bad job of being subtle about keeping an eye out for the other team. Finn and Mike were actually flanking Kurt, who was standing up against the Cheerios bus, surrounded by the rest of the squad; Santana even had one arm looped protectively through his, and was glaring angrily at anything wearing the other school’s colors. Brittany was at her side, keeping worried eyes on Kurt.

As Puck approached them, Mike and Finn nodded at him. They moved to join the rest of the team, so Puck could take their place — _his_ place — next to Kurt.

“Noah,” Kurt greeted, giving him a small smile.

“Princess,” answered Puck. He smiled back widely, feeling lighter than he had since he’d noticed the boys eyeballing Kurt. “You’re okay.”

Kurt reached out and very deliberately — like he was trying to be discreet even though they were the avid subject of all the attention their schoolmates weren’t using to keep a protective watch — curled his fingers in Puck’s jersey. “Guess what?”

Something in Puck’s stomach flipped. Not in a bad way. It was actually kind of… nice. He twisted so he was facing Kurt a little more fully. “What?”

“They’ve almost got the buses running,” Kurt declared brightly. “We’ll be out of here soon.”

Puck just watched Kurt smile for a couple of seconds. “Good.”

—

Puck ended up sitting next to Finn on the ride back to McKinley, just like after almost every away game ever, and just like most of those other times, Finn was asleep within minutes. Matt and Mike were across the aisle from them, giving Puck sideways looks every few minutes, but Puck ignored them. Whatever they wanted to say to him, they obviously weren’t going to do it on the bus with the rest of the football team.

The rest of the football team, it turned out, wasn’t going to hold themselves back the same way.

After less than twenty minutes, Henley and Lutz turned around in their seat, directly in front of Puck, and Markowitz leaned around him from the back. Puck tensed.

“Sorry we took so long earlier,” was what Markowitz said, though, and — wow. He actually really looked sorry. “We didn’t realize why you guys disappeared, at first.”

“It’s cool,” Puck said, without thinking about it, because, just, what? “You guys got there before they did anything to Kurt, so…”

Lutz and Markowitz’s eyes darted away. Henley cleared his throat. “Yeah.”

“Why’d you help me?” asked Puck, after hesitating a second. “Not that I don’t appreciate not having to listen to Kurt bitch about his face being messed up, but…”

“He goes to McKinley,” Markowitz replied, raising his eyebrows like it should have been obvious. “You think we’re just gonna let some other school’s punks push a McKinley kid around?”

“Besides,” Lutz put in, with a shrug, “he won us that game last year. He’s one of us.”

“And _you’re_ one of us, so, you know,” added Henley, a little uncomfortably. He rubbed at the back of his neck before quickly finishing, “Your boyfriend gets the same protection we’d expect for one of our girls.”

Puck shifted his eyes between them for a few moments. He nodded slowly. “Well. Thanks, then.”

—

The football bus got back to the high school before the Cheerios bus did, despite leaving second. Even though he was one of the first people off, Puck just leaned against his truck until the Cheerios bus pulled into the lot, then crossed over to meet Kurt as he climbed down.

“Noah,” Kurt said brightly. Then, blinking, repeated himself questioningly. “Noah?”

“Gonna walk you to your car,” Puck explained. After a moment, he reached out for Kurt’s gym bag and slung it over his own shoulder. “C’mon.”

“Okay,” murmured Kurt, following Puck cautiously.

When they got to Kurt’s SUV, Puck waited for him to unlock it, then opened the back door without being asked and tossed Kurt’s bag onto the floor in front of the seat. After that, he didn’t move for a minute. Kurt’s hand settled cautiously on his bare forearm.

“… Noah?”

“So, the whole team pretty much just assumed you were my boyfriend,” Puck declared abruptly, closing the car door and turning to face Kurt, who was staring at him. “I, uh, don’t think I’m gonna correct them.”

Kurt’s eyes snapped wide open. Like, _really_ wide open. He pulled his hand away. Puck cleared his throat and rubbed his hand down his no-longer-there mohawk.

“You… aren’t?” Kurt asked, blinking.

“No. It’s, well.” Feeling a hot flush creeping up the back of his neck, Puck looked away quickly. “The team’ll look out for you, that way. You’ll be… safe.”

Kurt kept boggling at him. “… Let me make sure I’ve got this right. You’re going to let the whole school think we’re dating so that the football team will protect me?” he summarized, carefully.

Puck was actually _blushing_ now. Crap. “Uh, not… exactly.”

“Then, what, exactly?” demanded Kurt, putting his hands on his hips and arching one of his perfect eyebrows.

“I’m gonna _date_ you,” Puck explained, rubbing at his mohawk again. Kurt actually made a surprised little squeaking noise. Puck cleared his throat and hurriedly said, “So the football team will protect you.”

Kurt’s mouth worked soundlessly a few times. Puck waited. “You mean, take me on _dates_ , date me?” Kurt finally managed to ask, sounding like he thought he had to be imagining things.

Puck nodded.

“Like, actually do things with me outside of school that I’ll enjoy, date me?”

Puck nodded again.

Kurt had stopped looking shellshocked and started looking… kinda hopeful. “Meet my dad, date me?” he whispered.

“Yeah, if you want,” Puck replied. His voice came out rough and not very badass at all, so he cleared his throat again and warned, “If you want to do stuff on Saturdays, though, you’ll have to be okay with the mall and my little sister.”

“If you want me to go along with this, you’ll have to be okay with kissing me at some point,” Kurt countered. As threats went, it was really, really weak.

Puck smirked. “Kurt, princess? I’m a _stud_. Kissing’s a given.”

**Author's Note:**

> This work can also be read [on Dreamwidth](http://gailsauce.dreamwidth.org/68969.html?style=site) or [on LiveJournal](http://gailsauce.livejournal.com/69576.html).


End file.
